


The Perfect Breakfast

by dozmuffinxc



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, Heart beats, M/M, cooking for your boyfriend, super gay, unbearable fondness in the kitchen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26867152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dozmuffinxc/pseuds/dozmuffinxc
Summary: It's day two of Taakitz Week 2020 and today's request was "unbearable fondness in the kitchen."
Relationships: Kravitz/Taako (The Adventure Zone)
Kudos: 32





	The Perfect Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ceilingfan5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceilingfan5/gifts).



Kravitz wakes up -- or rather, stirs from his semi-conscious trance-like state -- in the early hours of the morning. He still doesn’t sleep, not really, but luckily, neither does Taako… except when he does, and then he’s out for _hours_ , and Kravitz would never admit it, but he adores watching his boyfriend sleep. He’s all splayed limbs and tangled hair and there’s no tension anywhere in his shoulders. He wishes Taako could be like that all the time: no worries over where Lup is, no fear of the Hunger returning, no wondering how long their happiness will last.

His ears twitch at the sound of clinking dishes in the direction of the kitchen, and his nose detects the smell of cinnamon and browning butter. He doesn’t technically “need” to eat, but ever since he started dating Taako, food has simply become too irresistible. He even finds himself craving carnitas and sweet buns when he’s been away from home on a job for too long. Barry swears he heard Kravitz’s stomach rumble once, but Kravitz thinks it’s all the potions fumes addling his already-susceptible human brain.

He pads down the hall in a pair of slippers that Angus gave him last Candlenights, fluffy gray with white skulls dashing over the toes. He makes a point to be as quiet as possible, and when he slips into the kitchen doorway, he’s certain that Taako has no idea he’s there.

Taako is at the stove, his back to Kravitz, one hand on his hip and the other brandishing a gleaming spatula that’s dripping something oily and delectable. He sways in time to some music that only he can hear, and Kravitz is mesmerized by the swish and flick of his braid as it bounces against his back. He watches, rapt, as Taako whips the spatula underneath something heavy in the pan and flicks it high into the air with all the grace of a master juggler. Butter sizzles as it flops precisely back into the cast-iron bottom, and Kravitz bites his lip in appreciation as Taako bends forward to sniff his creation, giving Kravitz a perfect view of small, pert buttocks clad in pink velvet sweatpants with the word "Sizzle" spelled out in silver sequins.

“Sheesh, Krav! Stalker much?”

Taako fixes him with a look that’s half exasperation, half amusement, his head thrown over his shoulder as he continues, sightlessly, to minister to whatever he’s making on the stove. Caught in the act, Kravitz grins a sheepish grin made only slightly less convincing by the way his eyes are glowing bright crimson and gold as he closes the distance between them and slips his arms around Taako’s waist.

“Watch yourself -- I’m not putting salve on your burns again,” Taako murmurs into the side of Kravitz’s face as Kravitz presses his cheek into warm, freckled flesh.

“It was _one time_ , Taako. Are you ever going to let me live that down?”

“After you nearly set our home on fire making popcorn? _Never_.”

Kravitz growls in the least-menacing way possible and wiggles his fingers against Taako’s belly until the elf squirms.

“Stop that,” Taako scolds, elbowing him in the ribs. “You’ll make me ruin your breakfast!”

Kravitz glances down at the pan for the first time, and his mouth starts to water.

“You made French toast??”

“No doy,” Taako laughs. “It’s your favorite. Cinnamon sugar on top and stewed apples for the side. I might even whip up some fresh cream if you’re _really_ nice.”

As Kravitz watches Taako go about the business of plating their meal, Kravitz feels a sharp pang in his chest immediately followed by a frantic fluttering that is quickly replaced by an insistent, fleshy _thump_ against his rib cage. His hand flies to his chest, and he must make a noise of surprise because Taako whirls around, eyes bright with concern, already reaching out for Kravitz with one hand still clad in a quilted paisley oven mit.

“Kravitz? What’s the matter? Do I need to call Merle? I can-- I have my stone of farspeech somewhere here, I could--”

“It’s fine,” Kravitz assures him, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “I just…” He clears his throat and attempts to blink unexpected tears from his eyes. “I’m just not used to--” he gestures at his heart, “ _this_ quite yet. But it’s good, Taako. It’s… it’s great, actually.”

Taako’s mouth is a tiny “o” and his eyes are too big for his face as he closes the distance between them and places his uncovered palm gently on Kravitz’s chest. It’s faint, but there’s no denying the steady, persistent beat beneath his fingertips. When he glances back up at Kravitz, Taako’s smile is goofy and full, all teeth and bubbling laughter that quickly becomes contagious. They only stop when Taako remembers the food and, smacking Kravitz on the shoulder, he ushers his boyfriend to the kitchen table where he serves up a heaping plate of French toast with a side of kisses. 

All told, the perfect breakfast.


End file.
